The Many Moods of Voldemort and Bellatrix
by hyena
Summary: A few snapshots of the Dark Lord and his favourite Death Eater.


**Cookie #1**: One step up, two steps back 

Bella closed her eyes tightly and sighed. The man moving above her, deep in the throes of his own passion, rejoiced at her encouragement, and whispered her name between hardly drawn breaths, each of them a bit shorter than the previous one. His face was a study in tension, effort and pleasure; supporting himself with one arm on either side of her, he stared blankly into the wall he was facing, not looking at her yet, so as to gain a measure of control. She thought she heard an endearing of some form, but on second thought it was probably one of these sleazy monikers he inflicted upon her during those sessions. He seemed to like the verbal humiliation more than the act itself, and he often gave the impression of imagining she shared the same kink.

If only he knew. Bella hadn't sighed out of extenuating, blissful delight. She was bored. She was horribly bored, actually. She wanted to get up and go for a stroll in the park. Even a fishing tour in the nearby lake, notoriously devoid of all life forms, seemed a better idea. She could count at least three thousand occupations that would satisfy her more. Her husband, Rodolphus, had been more interested in men from the start of their arranged marriage, and as much as she liked his wit and brilliance as a friend, he didn't even try to pretend he had some flair for entertaining any part of her different from her mind. He had gotten really popular amongst the Death Eaters for offering to share his wife with one or more of them at any given meeting, and of course he was getting something in return too. She could only imagine that Malfoy's son recently turning eighteen had something to do with the platinum blond hair that was now brushing her chest and her neck.   
  
She opened her eyes again, looked up at Lucius. The man wasn't bad looking, but there was not much more to him. She remember having a measure of fun the now distant night when she was instructed to entertain him, Avery and Snape at the same time. Some creativity had found its way in the routine, basically thanks to the Hogwarts Potions Master. But that one was out of the picture now. At least he had exuded some real power, from time to time. And that was not too often.   
  
Power. Bella sighed again, thinking of what she'd seen during the war. The pain. The constant booming sounds. The ignited seas, turning dark red when thunderstorms came and wiped the blood off the ground. The disposable minions on both sides, the slaughtering and the slaughtered, the pettiness and betrayal, in their ranks and in the enemy's ranks. The flashes of green light. The threats, the panic, the endless suffering. The torturing. She relaxed against the pillows, light-headed, with a knot in her lower stomach, sweating, hot, pierced by something that had nothing to do with her companion. If only it wasn't just in her mind. If only. 

She could recall the one fateful night. Sitting in a tent on top of the hill, moments before he stood and stepped out, distant, steel and ice for their troops, unsettling and dominant, ordering with a single word an apocalyptic charge. The valley swarming with armed men in seconds, and him towering over the world with the determination of absolute command, that controlled, yet wild claim on everything there was to claim. When a messenger had delivered the news that Rodolphus had been wounded and could die, she had sat on the ground, grasping for thoughts, for an ounce of pity and concern to extract from her awed senses. While her husband struggled for life on the battlefield, he, the incarnation of all power, had sat behind her, held her from behind, whispered words that she could never forget, and slipped his hands under her robes, brought her back to awareness, made her cry out in delirium. She threw her head back in abandon, and murmured, almost silently, "My Lord". She didn't see a pair of grey eyes snap open, tinged with curiosity and some undernote of fear, now mere inches from her face.

She wanted him in his full wrath, the fierce fury that could make all that was known obey him, or crumble to dust. She wanted him to cajole her, trick her into trusting his sweetness, and then make her suffer, make her burn with longing, chained against a wall, and then split her open. She wanted that dark flame of his that had thousands dead, and the rest on their knees. Then she wanted him to hold her, kiss her, cuddle her, trick her again, make her see everything he could do, make her beg and whine for it, suspend her, punish her, reward her.   
  
The thoughts were too much. She screamed, awash with desire and ecstasy. Malfoy, puzzled by her unusual reaction yet too close to his own release to think, little knew that he had nothing to do with it.

**Cookie #2**: Foolish Wand Waving (not a sequel, different scenario)

It was three in the morning at the Black manor. Narcissa lay on her large bed, her dark blue nightgown pulled up around her waist, her blonde hair disheveled, her legs spread as wide as they would go. 

Between said legs was the dark head of her sister Bellatrix. The head stood still for a few seconds, then was joined by a pair of hands, promptly put to the task of eliciting high-pitched noises from Narcissa with systematic, detached movements, as if they were probing for bruised spots or unhealed cuts. Which they were.   
  
"Hey! Be careful there! It hurts a hell of a lot!" 

Bellatrix retracted, standing up close to the bed. She was trying hard to stifle a laugh.   
  
"I'm sorry, sister. Didn't mean any harm. You look like crap down there." 

Narcissa shot her a furious look. "Thanks for telling me, Bella. I did know. I feel like crap also, thank you very much. Now, might I remind you that you were called here to help me, as opposed to embarass me? I can't cast spells worth shit with this pain, and anyway i have no idea of how to deal with that." 

"Well, I think it needs a skin regenerating charm. I'm not quite sure it is going to work on the _inside_, but I can try and perform it. Still, you're not getting it for free".   
  
Narcissa scowled. Why did she end up the only blonde in a family full of cunning, evil dark-haired wizards? She felt like she was getting the short end of the stick. Which, in her current circumstances, was more than appropriate. 

"There's no fun in this game, Bella. You already won. I can't stand this any longer and I'm not calling Mom or a house-elf to take care of it. Not under any circumstance. So please blurt out whatever the hell you want and cast the bloody charm".   
  
Bella grinned in a disquieting manner. "I thought you had enough blood on you as it is. You can be healed, but I want the whole story." Her face was fixed in an exaggerated smile, while Narcissa's was running the full range of colors allowed to a blonde. She had hoped for a small sum of money, heck, even a big sum of money, but the _whole story_... To hell, she had no chance. 

She drew in a very long breath and spoke. 

"Wosavinsexwilucanetridusisuand".   
  
Bella exhibited an even larger grin and prodded Narcissa strategically where she was at her most sore.

"Sister, this isn't going to work. We have all night. I'll just keep on annoying you until you spill the beans." 

"Right, right, you win. But let me make this mercifully brief. Lucius was here until half an hour ago. He keeps on wanting to screw me, but as I have told you he is not really confident with the mechanics of the thing. He's been told about foreplay by one of his stupid mates, and he thought that he would try something with his wand. And, before you ask, yes, the one he bought at Ollivander's. Thirteen inches, flexible, etcetera. I'm not in the mood for metaphors, and they won't hold in the specific context anyway. Anyway he... er... inserted the wand where he should really have inserted something else. While he was experimenting, he said something idiotic about how he had been practicing a _very cool_ - his words, sure enough not mine - spell to create fireworks. Needless to say, he just _had_ to say the words for the spell out loud." 

Bellatrix opened her mouth, sure she would never close it again. She cast the healing spell on Narcissa just in time, before falling victim to a laughing spree that drove her first to her knees, then directly on the floor, shaking and convulsing.   
  
Narcissa, profiting from her recovered health, stood up and thought of kicking her sister in the ribs. Then she remembered that she had to at least pretend to be grateful. Actually, she was: the predicament had been honestly horrible. If only she didn't have to marry Lucius Malfoy... damned family arrangements. But then, HA! Bellatrix wasn't better off. And it looked like the right time to remind her.   
  
"Dear sister, if I were you I would stop acting like you're at the funniest party of your life. Lucius might not be the brightest boy at Hogwarts, or out of Hogwarts for that matter, but may I remind you that you are promised to Rodolphus Lestrange, who is... let's see... interested in improper use of other lads' wands? Or, to state it bluntly, a flaming queen who dresses in bright orange skirts when he thinks nobody's looking? And do you need reminding also that I am not stupid and that your room is right beside mine? I am under the impression that those noises you make at night don't come from self-gratification, and you don't seem to realize that if word gets out that at 16 you have a lover who is not your fiancé you will be deemed a slut and excluded from inheritance or marriage by every hypocritical Black, Malfoy, Nott, Avery and whatever other name you can think of. Is this enough to make you stop laughing?" 

Bella looked at her sister through misty eyes, still kind of gleeful. "Well, Rodolphus is as ridiculous as Lucius, but he doesn't hurt me, accidentally or not. And speaking of the "not" part, my lover is none of your business. I warn you, but that's only because I need to have further opportunities of making fun of your absurd boyfriend and your hair. If word ever gets out about me and him, heads will fall - and I mean literally - so there will be plenty of inheritance and very few marriages. So keep your blonde mouth shut and relax about my reputation. He's going to get rid of anyone who annoys us in five sweet seconds." With that, she added "Very sweet" and her eyes drifted from amused to dreamy. She started to walk to the door, carried by some deep thought. 

Narcissa couldn't believe her ears. "Hey! Bella! Get back here. You're talking like a knave in a tavern, for Merlin's sake. " She started on a decent mockery of the drawl that was heard in disreputable places like the Hog's Head, where of course Lucius just _loved_ to take her. To show her he was a big man, or something.   
"Oi, don't ye mess with ma business or my bad-ass shag is going to come and rip ya ta pieces. Hear me Merlinfucker? Ye're in trouble."

 Narcissa reverted to her real voice. 

"What kind of idiot has planted that attitude in your head? Are you sleeping with Crabbe? Goyle? Both?". Oh, she was enjoying revenge for the earlier mockery! 

"And they tell you they're going to beat everyone to death if you're found out? Like, Dad or Mr. Lestrange walks in on you, and what does little Crabbe do? Bite their head off? Get off your high horse, sister! You sound like you think you're screwing the damn Dark Lord himself!" 

Bellatrix turned to Narcissa, smug satisfaction in her eyes. 

"You know what, sister? I am. And he's a prodigy with wandless magic." 

**Cookie #3**: Broken  (not a sequel, different scenario)

It was cold. Damp, too. Uncomfortable to the point of unbearable.

_Where am I?_

Bellatrix wasn't sure if she was asleep or awake, alive or dead. Her perception was obscured by a thick cloud of desensitizing agony. She couldn't open her eyes. The barest movement of any facial muscle pushed her on the outer edge of consciousness, that thin line where intellect and force of will don't dwell, dissolved by fatigue and pain into a confused, hazy state of being: gravity takes   
over and bodies collapse to the ground. But she could feel she wasn't hitting the cold stone. Her brain, swimming in deep turmoil caused by the recent events, absurdly signaled to her that this was funny. She tried to laugh and found her lips were sticky and sealed. In a flash of lucidity, she knew it was because of dried blood. She could also feel a vague hurt around her wrists, then it   
started to grow blissfully number by the minute. She passed out again. 

The Dark Lord, leisurely leaning against the dungeon door, eyed his handywork and smiled to himself. Red eyes almost glowing in the dark, he observed intently the shadow Bellatrix was casting against the wall in front of him. It flickered with the candlelight, although Bellatrix was perfectly still. _Remarkable how shadows are apt at giving false impressions_, he thought whimsically. The woman's wrists were constricted together by heavy chains, and those were in turn joined to another chain, fixed with an iron plaque to the ceiling. Bella was consequently suspended in midair, right in the center of the circular room. He'd let Avery and Nott take some liberties with her: trickles of blood ran down her face and neck, and one of her ankles exhibited an ugly gash, brought about by a vicious cutting charm cast by Lucius Malfoy. But the angry red marks around her wrists, caused by metal biting into her flesh, were his own pride: he'd charmed the chains to grow infinitesimally tighter every passing second, so that they would slowly penetrate under her skin, letting him enjoy the show. He was furious with her, and restless because the prophecy had been destroyed, but this was allowing him to forget for a moment and be marginally content. 

After a while of watching the woman who worshipped him more than any other living being suffer in such an artful way, the one who gave herself to him with such wild, delirious abandon, he strode towards her hanging form. His eyes were level with her breasts. _There has to be some irony in this situation_. He walked around her, and gave her left shoulder a very hard shove, intended to make her spin on herself with momentum, and therefore grind her wrists into the chains in such a painful way that she would be shocked back to consciousness. Which happened.   
  
The cuts on her lips burst open and fresh blood dripped from them when she gave a frightening cry upon being dragged to reality in such a torturous way. And she couldn't afford the luxury of fainting: he waved her wand at her and pronounced a long-lasting enervating spell. Her spinning had grown slower, and while all the cells in her body were calling for a quick, merciful death she felt herself being steadied from behind by two bony, chilly hands. The hands gave another sharp tug, and she screamed again, her eyes still closed. When she could manage to open them and see anything different from white-hot light, she didn't see anything but a dungeon wall a short way away. 

"The prophecy has been destroyed. And it's all because of your disgusting selfishness. You chose trying to show your own personal valor in a battle over showing a dedication to the cause. You have no commitment, and not even this valor you pursue, seeing how two little boys and a piece of rock cornered you. I shall have to act accordingly". 

The voice came from below her. She managed to bend her neck enough to see the Dark Lord. He was keeping her still, standing at arm's lenght. He was staring back up at her with liquid fire in his eyes. And it was a fire of anger, loathing, hate. She wasn't living to see another day. She had failed him and she was going to be killed. That simple. The sharp, uncompromising, truthful way that had made her consider the Death Eaters, among other factors. When you lose, you really lose. No silly forgiving. No demented, infuriating rehabilitation of those who are too stupid to win. She had been giving out final punishment to many people, and each of them was too weak to live. She lived by harsh justice, she would die by it. No pleading. 

Speaking was difficult, so she kept to the bare minimum. 

"My Lord. Kill me." 

Voldemort gave her another shove, playful this time, and took a few steps back while she swung like a pendulum. He looked at her and gave her a smile that was like a double-edged saber. "But not at all, my dear. Not at all. I'm having the time of my life watching you like this. All bloodied and squealing in pain. I can't count the ways in which I can make you scream, and still you are proud as ever. You think I don't see through. You think I don't know that you think we always said only the strong deserve to survive. And you think you haven't been strong, so you must die. Which would also be really convenient, seeing how you're not really feeling well." 

Bella nodded slightly, feeling all her tendons screech in the process. 

"Well, first I'm not doing you that sort of favor. Second, Death Eater propaganda is just that: propaganda. Take it from the one who started it in the first place." A grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "More often than you think, principles need to be bent, broken, and thrown down the drain. Even the ones we hold dear. The only good principle is: Lord Voldemort needs to make the world his little playground, to abuse at will. To consume and burn down. Or whatever I will see fit. If I need to value the weak over the strong to achieve that, I will. I will give them every honor if corrupting them is necessary. Cannon fodder sometimes wins wars, clever generals sometimes spend their nights plotting riots. And don't even dare to tell me you feel deceived. Saying you thought I was really only picking the best will only make you look even more idiotic, not to mention conceited. And anyway, you'll get your share when the fight is over." 

At the imperceptible widening of her bruised eyes, he snapped: "Cut the drama. I told you, you'll live. I'm not pleased, but you'll live. You've been stupid, presumptuous, and undeserving of the trust I placed in you, but you can still have a part in the war plan. Which one, it's for me to decide." 

With that, he approached her and caught her in a tight embrace, his lips millimeters from her breasts. She could feel a very distant tingling, an awakening of lust mixed with the continuing agony. She involuntarily licked blood off her lips. _This can't be happening. This is a bad nightmare. Soon I will be awake and Rodolphus will be at my side_. She had no clue as to what her feelings were. This was just too much. She couldn't be feeling desire for her torturer. Getting turned on by him being so deliciously (_"Deliciously?" Bella, what got into you, just what?_) violent against Muggles and Muggle-loving wizards was one thing, but where was her increasing need coming from _now_? 

As if he could sense her thoughts, he slipped one hand behind her back in a smooth, long caress. Only for some reason the tip of his hand felt pointy. As she was wondering, torn by the lack of sense of it all, she heard him say "Crucio" in a plain, detached tone, and her whole body contracted, devastated by horrible pain. He kept on holding her until he lifted the curse. Then he stepped back, and made her restraints disappear: she crumbled to the floor. Just as she was propping herself up, he made his way to the door, only to turn around at the last minute to regard her quite longingly, something like curiosity in his eyes. 

"You know, Bella? The way you moved under the curse had a certain something of the way you spasm when I make love to you. Don't make me think you made a connection, or we shall do this more often."

**Cookie #4**: Remembrance (not a sequel, different scenario)  
   
Narcissa sat on her bed, cross-legged. She looked worried, to the point of anxious. She regarded her sister, standing in front of the fireplace, with a look that held mixed feelings. It would be a long night.   
  
Bella sighed theatrically. "Narcissa. Nothing but good can come out of this, and you know."   
  
Narcissa shrugged. Of course she knew. But she still didn't like it. In this precise moment, her son would probably be having carnal knowledge of a Muggle woman, of all things. That was as close to disgusting as it could get, and as much as she wanted her only son to be in the right place at the right time, which of course implied what he was going through tonight, she didn't like to think of him as so weak that he should take out his urges on such filthy counterparts. Her kid reduced to touching _Muggles_ in that way? She had always pictured nobody but the most beautiful pureblood young witches to share her boy's bed. Men were, indeed, kind of creepy at times. And she couldn't shake off the thought that her sweet little one was also a man, with all the downsides.   
  
Bella somehow understood what her sister was going through. Of course, were she a mother she would have asked nothing better for her son than taking the Dark Mark right on his eighteenth birthday, but she could see how consorting with Muggles was squicking Narcissa. But it was a part of the ritual, imposing violent and public sex on a Muggle woman. Although _imposing_ wasn't really the right word when it came to Draco: the lad had turned out such a beautiful specimen that the chosen girl couldn't but feel really good about needing to couple with him. Well, maybe on second thought a cheering gang of Death Eaters wasn't the most appropriate surrounding. She clumsily stifled a laugh at the thought of what kind of encouragements Avery was giving to the lad at the moment. Not to mention the painful longing that Rodolphus must be feeling, wishing so hard to take the place of the Muggle woman.   
  
Narcissa shot her sister an angry look. "How can you laugh at my predicament? In the end it's _my_ kid who's doing something rotten, so you can have fun, eh? I only wish you have to screw a Muggle very soon, then we'll see who laughs!".   
  
Bella was struck by a brilliant thought. She was stuck in the same room with her sister for hours, with the boring duty of watching over her in such a troublesome night, and she could as well try to have some fun. "Speaking of which, sister, let's take a break from all this worrying - you aren't going to change anything anyway - and have some decent girl talk. Did you ever sleep with a Muggle?"   
  
Narcissa looked horrified. "Bella! Aside from the fact that I can't remember us doing any girl talk since the summer you turned seventeen, how do you _dare_ insinuate that I could do that? Of course not. That's just gross."   
  
"Well, well. Relax. I wasn't implying that you did that. But you see, I took your mind off Draco for a second. You were too busy getting angry with me. So next question: Mudblood?"   
  
"No, no and no. No. I would never touch anyone who is not a pureblood."   
  
"Right. So, purebloods other than your amazing husband, currently running amok with your kid in search of young, untouched Muggle flesh?"   
  
"You're horrible. But you're so horrible you are almost funny. And no, I've never cheated on Lucius, before or after marriage. I'm not like _some people in the house of Black_ who'd gladly get with anything who's willing".   
  
Bellatrix pulled a mock sanctimonious expression. "Now, now, don't be all judgemental about our poor cousin Sirius".   
  
Her sister, for the first time in some hours, gave a small satisfied smile. "Sirius? But not at all. I was talking about you."   
  
Bella was taken aback for a second, then regained her composure. That was fun. "I will overlook your offending words, on counts of you being the silliest Black sister ever produced - you just ramble, your words don't hold any meaning. What makes you think I sleep around?". Her espression was so suave that almost anyone would have believed her and launched into a sequence of apologies. But not her sister.   
  
"I didn't say that. But I remember you showing a certain appreciation in fourth year for my amazing husband, as you so cleverly put it. And I wouldn't be surprised if he had jumped at the chance. Plus, rumor has it that in fifth year you had a threesome with Mulciber and Nott. You told me yourself about Goyle's extremely interesting anatomy. And might I remind you that you had an affair with a _Gryffindor_ at the start of your sixth year, and that you abused Severus Snape when he was a minor. Then you got engaged with the fag that is now your husband and you must have chosen the praised ways of discretion since I didn't ever hear anything about your sex life anymore."   
  
Bella was now laughing heartily. "Why did you never tell me? It wasn't Nott, it was Crabbe. The Goyle story is true. And as for Lucius, he was too young to get anything done. Snape, on the other hand, was pretty funny. The Gryffindor was a total bore, and you would be amazed on how many things a gay man can do in bed if you give him the right cue. Actually, your kid has so many fanboys in his year that I wouldn't be surprised if he knew that better than I do."   
  
Narcissa, who had been looking quite entertained in the past few minutes, suddenly frowned, thinking of Draco again. In an effort not to get scared or depressed, she turned her attention back to the saucy conversation.   
  
"Well, Bella, I guess I didn't get precise enough tabs on your activities. So now it's time for me to ask you: did you ever sleep with a Muggle?"   
  
"Nope. No fun. I like the occasional charm in bed."   
  
"Yeah, I can just imagine the kind of stuff you like. And no, don't tell me, I don't need it to add to my collection of disturbing mental images, thank you very much. I have enough at the moment. So, any Mudblood?"   
  
Bellatrix wondered for the millionth time how could her sister be so unaware of what was going on outside of her little blond-haired family. She was so sharp at times, yet terribly dim in other circumstances.   
  
"Why, yes, Narcissa."   
  
The younger sister gave the older one a look of morbid fascination.   
  
"And how was it? Are they any good?"   
  
"It was incredible. Sinfully good. A dream come true. Or better yet, I should say it _is_ incredible, sinfully good, a dream come true, and more, every single time. I have the best lover I could ask for, and although he wouldn't like to hear it, I'm afraid he technically is a Mudblood. This doesn't prevent him from great use of magic, and he's got a knack for certain Unforgivables that put the fun back in sex. But I digress..."   
  
The look on Narcissa's face was priceless, as realization dawned on her. At the same time, Draco - who had just returned from the ceremony - burst into the room, overexcited and with his left sleeve rolled up, keen to show his Dark Mark to his mother. So confused she was that she pointed at her son and said "You... you are sleeping with Lord Voldemort."   
  
It took Draco some moments to realize what Narcissa had said. Bella slipped out of the room: if Draco was back, then her lover was back too, and there was no time to be wasted.   
  
"Mum? Dad told me you wouldn't have liked that part of the initiation, but I swear on my Mark it was a Muggle woman, definitely not Lord Voldemort."

**Cookie #5: Reunion (not a sequel, different scenario)  
**   
She stood, transfixed. Through the haze of her tormented mind, all she wanted to do was run to him, throw her arms around him, sob in his chest, and just never let go. The hurt that had been crushing her had been too enormous to forget, and she couldn't process the fact that she was _out_ of the damned place. Her one and only, her Lord, her lover and her reason for living was just a few steps away, and she was free. She needed to disappear in the folds of his cloak, she needed annihilation and rebirth, she needed him to take care of her and bring her back to life. She advanced on him, arms reaching out. He did not move, but stared at her with cold distance.   
  
"Bellatrix. You look filthy and disgusting."   
  
She shrieked, a chilling sound coming out of her gaping, lightly drooling mouth. He turned and gestured to two cloaked figures that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. One of them was rubbing carefully his left arm, as if it was injuried.   
  
"Take her to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa Malfoy shall see that she is healed, cleaned, fed and put to rest. She shall be given a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and awoken after ten hours. She shall be briefly taken walking in the gardens, then fed again, and put to rest. She shall see the light of day for some more time each day, in between dreamless sleep, and the healing charms shall be applied every time it is required. Nobody shall talk to her except for Narcissa and the Manor's Mediwitch. Should I come to find that she is not properly taken care of, the whole Malfoy family house will go up in flames, and there will be no safe place to hide for those responsible. Now go."   
  
One of the two Death Eaters approached the trembling form of Bellatrix and lifted her roughly over his shoulder. A moment later, he was dead, and she was slumped on his still form, passed out from fatigue and pain.   
  
Voldemort had fiery anger in his voice. He was quiet for a while, then he shouted. And it sounded like heaven was about to fall.   
  
"Mulciber! Now you will take Bellatrix Lestrange to Malfoy Manor. Alone."   
  
The young Death Eater tried to think quickly, terrified as he was. If the Dark Lord was on a murder spree, he was going to be good and done too in a matter of seconds. Then it dawned on him. Maybe he could just make it out alive once more, thanks to these famed smarts of his. He mustered all his discipline to stop shaking, and he forced himself not to hesitate. He took four careful steps, slowly bent down, and gathered Bellatrix in his arms with a degree of delicacy that bordered on sweetness, yet had nothing remotedly resembling the kind of affection that a man shares with a woman. He concentrated on the occasions when he had picked up his little sister after she'd taken a bad fall. That was the kind of image he needed to create. Anything more, anything less, and a ray of green light would put him to sleep. For a long time.   
  
Her head was resting on his shoulder; he had one arm behind her neck, one encircling her lower back. She looked almost comfortable, and he wasn't showing any effort. Voldemort nodded curtly in his direction.   
  
"Mulciber, you will be rewarded. Now go".

**Cookie #6: Malfoy break (not a sequel, different scenario)**  
   
Four, three, two, one. Four, three, two, one. Controlled breathing is the key to quick recovery, Bellatrix said to herself. She lay spread out on a crystal table, in a large room adorned by portrays of Malfoy ancestors, all looking down at her with rapture in their eyes. _They like to watch. How Malfoy_, she silently mused. Her shoulders and neck were sore from being twisted into an awkward position: her arms were behind her back, and her wrists were cuffed to one of the delicate legs of the table. Now that she was coming back from a rush of pleasure - fourth? fifth in the night? - she was starting to feel uncomfortable. No use complaining, though: the Dark Lord was in a playful mood tonight, and he would play his way, no matter how much she whined. On second thought, that was just a cue for him to think up more weird stuff. _Yeah. Shut up then_.   
  
Not that she had a real reason to complain. He was already giving her cause for distraction. Ever so considerate, he was avoiding - _at least for ten minutes, will you?_ - her most private parts, and placing brilliant little kisses in apparently innocent places. Bella closed her eyes, and found that the mere sound of gentle suckling coming from somewhere below her chin was really something she had underrated in the past. Mild annoyance, soon replaced by wild expectations, came over her when aforementioned sound abruptlty ceased. _Oh, he must have stopped for breath, he's going to use one of these wonderful Charms of his on me now..._.   
  
Just as she was wondering what he would say, Voldemort pronounced a single, chilling word: "Lucius".   
  
_Oh my. That's news. He's trying to Transfigure me into... that? Never knew he fancied him. And I really, really think he's on the wrong side of bad taste, with that heinous cane. Oh, well, a girl's got to know when to play along. And I never knew you could practice Transfiguration by saying the name of the..._   
  
A second, familiar voice interrupted Bella's reflections. It said something that sounded like "Mppppppph". She began to worry. The spell had gone awry? Backfired, maybe? Was the Dark Lord, in all of his magnificent power, being turned into that twit Malfoy? She didn't dare open her eyes, and opted instead for speaking. Less scary, if anything. But she was too apprehensive to control her words properly.   
  
"Honey? Is everything all right? Did you get hurt?"   
  
At this, the repressed murmur she had heard just moments before turned into full-blown laughter. And it wasn't her lover's trademark blood-freezing laugh, more something reminding her of a drunken Hogsmeade weekend from a distant past.   
  
_Oh, no._   
  
She opened her eyes and turned to face a red-faced Lucius Malfoy, laughing like mad. Voldemort was eyeing him amusedly. Bella wasn't sure she had a clue about what was going on. Why was her sister's husband even there? Why was he giggling like a schoolgirl? And why hadn't the Dark Lord killed him already? She didn't realize she had been thinking aloud.   
  
"Honestly, Bellatrix... you're asking me what's funny? First: I come into _my_ private dining room to look for Draco, and instead of him I find you, naked, all tied up and with an expression on your face that looks like you've been eating Sugar Quills for one month on end and you still want more. Oh, filthy Mudbloods, behold the mean, merciless, evil Bellatrix Black! If you ever cross her path, she will be your sex slave forever, and you won't be able to stop wearing spiked dog collars! Not to mention Lord Honey here - scourge of the Wizarding World, terror incarnate, moulding and reinventing the Dark Arts to achieve his intimidating goals... and so concentrated on how to sweetly caress you out of frenzied ecstasy that he didn't even notice I've been standing here for the past five minutes."   
  
Bellatrix waited for Voldemort to dispose of the Malfoy scum. Then, to her surprise, the Dark Lord joined into Lucius' laugh.   
"You're funny, Lucius, but I think you know too much for your own good. _Obliviate!_ Come to think of it, _Imperio_ also... And Bella, relax, nothing's going on. Just close your eyes".   
  
She did as she was told, and just as she was sliding into yet another stream of delicious sensations she wondered why the suckling sound she was hearing before all that weird Lucius situation seemed to have doubled in intensity.


End file.
